


Steady and Small and Sweet

by tothewillofthepeople



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drinking, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Pining, Pining Enjolras, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 07:37:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5959111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tothewillofthepeople/pseuds/tothewillofthepeople
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times Enjolras doesn't smoke with Grantaire and one time he does (sort of).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steady and Small and Sweet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ForeverMidnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForeverMidnight/gifts).



> This is just a little thing. There's some drunk kissing but nothing approaching consent issues.

The first time Grantaire does it, Enjolras is fucking _gone._

He’s with almost all of his friends at Feuilly’s apartment; Prouvaire has class, and Bossuet is getting a replacement room key, but everyone else had gathered to sprawl across Feuilly’s furniture, eat pizza, and complain about exams. Grantaire walks in late with his hair tucked untidily under a hat and a pair of books for Feuilly. 

Enjolras is sitting at the little table with Combeferre, playing cards. Combeferre is winning.

Grantaire drops into the seat next to Combeferre and gives him a friendly shove. Enjolras sets down his cards.

“What are you playing?” Grantaire asks, all smiling and friendly. He has charcoal on his fingers and a streak of it through one eyebrow.

“Two-handed Euchre.” Enjolras indicates the two fives he has at his elbow and watches as Combeferre takes the last hand. “I’m losing.”

The cards are Feuilly’s, a reversed set, with white and red numbers on a black background. They have a classic look, which he appreciates, and Combeferre completes the picture nicely with his dark gray sweater and the empty champagne flute not far from his hand. 

Grantaire is mussed and contradictory at Combeferre’s side, but he compliments the scene nonetheless. “I’ll play you,” he offers. “I always lose to Combeferre too.”

“That’s no fun, I usually beat him.”

Grantaire smirks at him. “I’ll keep his advantage, then. Come on, I haven’t played in ages.”

Enjolras shrugs and scoops up the cards to shuffle them.

Combeferre stands up and takes the champagne glass with him. “I’m going to get another drink,” he says, in response to a minute flicker of Enjolras’s pale eyebrows. “Play your game, I’ll be ready to leave as soon as you’re done.” 

He walks away. Enjolras deals the cards, checks his hand, and glances up to find that Grantaire is watching him. His own cards are still facedown on the table.

“How’ve you been?”

“Fine. Yourself?” Enjolras’s raises his eyebrows and lays down his cards.

Grantaire puts his elbows on the table. “Just peachy, actually. Better than Combeferre, it seems.”

“He’s okay. Just dealing with some personal matters,” Enjolras says with small frown. “He’s coming over to mine after this.”

Grantaire’s expression tilts and reorders itself. “Tell him we’re all here to help if he needs it.”

“I will.” Enjolras taps his cards. “Did you actually want to play?”

Grantaire smiles at him and picks up his hand.

“Your call,” Enjolras reminds him.

“Hearts.”

They start playing. Grantaire has an expressive face, but it goes stone-cold when he’s playing cards, a quirk that Enjolras has admired in him before. He keeps one of his own hands on the table, relaxed, and taps his fingers whenever Grantaire deliberates.

Grantaire wins the first round and deals the next.

“Your call.”

“Spades.”

“Do you know what’s bothering him?”

Enjolras lays down a king and frowns. “I said it was personal.”

“He told me the same thing, I just wondered if you really knew,” Grantaire says with a shrug. “He has the tendency to tell three different versions of the same story, have you noticed?” He puts down an ace and pulls both cards over to his own side, then plays a king.

“He can take care of himself,” Enjolras mutters. He has a terrible hand this round, and he tries not to furrow his brow. “And it’s not like I’ll be of much use for this particular problem.” Then he winces and looks up.

Grantaire’s eyebrows are raised almost comically high.

“Oh, fuck,” Enjolras says, reactionary.

Grantaire takes the cards again and outright grins at him. “It’s chill, dude,” he says, before Enjolras can stammer out anything else. “So, Combeferre’s got a crush.” He plays another ace– how the fuck did he get such a good hand? “I won’t say anything to anyone, by the way. Promise.”

“Thank you.” Enjolras knows that his face is slightly red. He plays a nine.

“Will Feuilly care if I have a cigarette?” Grantaire asks him after they finish their round. He leans across the table confidentially, as though no one else knows that he smokes like a goddamn chimney. “I don’t want to bother him.”

“Do it out the window,” Enjolras says, coldly. “I don’t think he smokes, so he won’t like it.”

Grantaire raises his eyebrows. “I don’t judge you, you don’t judge me,” he says. “Besides, this shit is odorless.” He takes something silver and oddly-shaped out of his pocket and puts the end of it in his mouth, then takes it away to exhale a smooth cloud of smoke moments later.

Enjolras gives him a look.

“An early present from Cosette,” Grantaire says around the stem of the thing. “It’s supposed to be easier on the lungs.”

“I can’t believe you fucking vape,” Enjolras replies dryly, but he lets the set of his shoulders relax. The smoke is eye-catching; he can’t stop watching the fleeting motions it makes when Grantaire exhales.

Grantaire draws deeply and releases another cloud of pure white vapor. “If it makes her happy, you know?”

Enjolras sighs and leans his head on one hand. He casts about for a new conversation topic. “How are your classes going?”

Grantaire drags deeply on his vaporizer and settles back in his chair. He’s hypnotizing like this, with his head tipped back and his eyes lazy, even though Enjolras hates the sight and scent of smoke. “Fine,” Grantaire mutters. “Can’t ever fucking sit down to do the homework but the lectures are all fine.”

They stay in compatible silence for a moment. Enjolras gathers the cards up again and starts idly constructing a petite house with them. He glances up every few moments to watch as Grantaire vapes.

“Have you ever seen someone French inhale?” Grantaire runs a hand through his hair and watches Enjolras with a friendly expression. Enjolras shakes his head. “You’re not a smoker, I can tell, but I always thought this was cool.” Grantaire sits up and leans forward. Enjolras’s face feels warm.

Grantaire lets his eyes fall half-closed and parts his lips. He breathes out through his mouth and in through his nose; the result is a controlled river of white smoke spilling over his top lip. Enjolras is captivated; he has to grip the edges of his chair to keep for reaching for Grantaire’s mouth. The other boy grins when he’s finished and leans back in his chair to blow the smoke back out through his mouth.

Enjolras is frozen. “How did you learn to do that?” He manages.

“I knew a girl that was excellent at it,” Grantaire says with a shrug. He tucks the vape back in his pocket. “She taught me a ton of tricks.”

Enjolras flushes even darker. “It’s cool.” He clears his throat. 

Grantaire grins at him again and and stands up. “Cosette and I should be heading out,” he says, and then he ruffles Enjolras’s hair affectionately. “Come play cards with me again sometime, you’re not bad.”

Enjolras bats him away. “Will do. Tell Cosette I said bye.”

“Sure.” Grantaire has the gall to wink at him and then walks away; he jams his hat on his head as he goes.

*

The autumn is just barely growing colder the next time Enjolras sees Grantaire smoke. By careful design, Enjolras has his writing seminar with a few of his friends, and they’re all walking through campus to class and dragging each other for the last essays that were peer-edited; Grantaire, because he has the tendency to quote episodes of SpongeBob or Avatar, and Enjolras because he never uses commas. His sentences are a barren wasteland of the unrealized potential of punctuation.

Grantaire stops short on the sidewalk just in front of the building where their seminar is held. “Fuck, I need my nicotine.” He starts rifling in his pockets.

“You’re going to be late!” Cosette says, exasperated. 

Enjolras glances over. Grantaire is already dropping down to sit on a bench set against the side of the building, with his palms held out and a placating grin aimed at his friend. Cosette narrows her eyes at him before she ducks inside the door with Bossuet.

“Your attendance is already bad enough,” Combeferre cautions idly. He leans against the wall next to Grantaire. “Feel like sharing?”

“Stay out here with us, Enjolras,” Grantaire calls as he holds up a box of cigarettes to Combeferre and pulls out his vaporizer.

Enjolras paces over to them. Grantaire blows a plume of smoke at him in greeting and laughs when Enjolras tries to wave it away. “Sure you don’t want to try?” He offers the silver vaporizer.

Enjolras shakes his head. “I’m going to try it sometime, maybe,” he says, a decision that he didn’t know he had reached until that moment. “But not today.”

“Fair enough.” Grantaire shrugs and pats the bench next to him. Enjolras swings his backpack off his shoulder and settles down as well. He glances at Grantaire. Grantaire is looking back with his eyebrows raised. When he catches Enjolras’s eye he grins and starts blowing perfect smoke rings.

“Show-off,” Combeferre mutters, but Enjolras is entranced by the ephemeral circles that Grantaire can push from his pursed lips. He has the same content, cream-fed expression that he always does when he smokes, and it looks almost obscene when combined with the suggestive shape of his mouth. Enjolras knows he’s staring but Grantaire likes the attention; he keeps grinning impishly at Enjolras between drags, and he doesn’t stop blowing perfect smoky rings until it’s well past the correct time to go in for class.

“Smoke with me, the first time you do,” Grantaire says to Enjolras later, as they settle quietly into their seats at the back of the room. “I can teach you all of the cool tricks.”

“Okay,” Enjolras says. Grantaire smiles at him.

*

The next time Enjolras sees Grantaire, it’s a bad day. A _very_ bad day. 

Enjolras is moving slowly, and he hasn’t eaten anything. He wore his favorite outfit to combat how badly he fits in his body, but he can’t stop picking at the sleeves of his sweater.

There’s no rhyme or reason to it, no grand problem or pressing concern. He woke up without enough time to shower and hasn’t been comfortable all day– his friends help. He feels wonderful around his friends. But even they can’t combat the gentle headache that rests heavily at the back of his skull.

They’re having a get-together in Prouvaire’s apartment, because Prouvaire has one of the nicest apartments, and the whole extended group is there. Prouvaire himself seems very occupied with Courfeyrac on the couch (and Enjolras spends a long time in the kitchen with Combeferre, who shotguns a beer like his life depends on it). Everyone else is drinking and laughing, and there is some dancing happening, but Prouvaire’s apartment has a balcony and Enjolras has always been a cliché so he opens the door and slips out after Combeferre decides to stop drinking.

He knows that alcohol will actually make him feel worse in the morning, so he hasn’t been drinking. He may be one of the only sober people at the party.

The door opens again. Enjolras turns wearily to see who has joined him, and almost bites his tongue when he realizes that it’s Grantaire.

“Ready for your first smoke?” The other boy asks him as he leans back against the railing. Enjolras shakes his head.

“Having a bit of a shit day, actually,” he mutters. “Seems like a bad idea to try.”

“Fair enough.” Grantaire says the words with the same rhythm as the last time he offered. “I need to quit anyway. The vape is just a stepping stone.”

“You’re going to quit but you want me to start?”

“I want you to _try,”_ Grantaire corrects. “Just for the tricks and stuff, I know you like them.”

Enjolras smiles and looks back out over the balcony. The view from Prouvaire’s is unfairly nice, which is another reason they’ve chosen to congregate here. Enjolras can see almost all the way up the city street to where the skyscrapers tower the sidewalks.

“Show me another one,” he says, after a long pause.

Grantaire watches him thoughtfully for a moment. “Okay,” he says. “This is called ghosting.” He waits until he has Enjolras’s full attention before drawing deeply on the vaporizer. He opens his mouth and lets the smoke drift out in a gentle plume, moving further away from him, until he leans forward and inhales it again. It’s like catching the smoke after releasing it, a cloudy game of cat-and-mouse, and Enjolras is predictably mesmerized.

“Do it again,” he says

Grantaire obliges him. This is familiar by now: his eyes; his mouth; the smoke disappearing down his throat.

“Again.”

Another exhale. Another inhale.

“Again.”

*

A week later they’re at Courfeyrac’s and Bahorel’s fraternity for a party and Enjolras, uncharacteristically, is straddling the border between tipsy and drunk. He feels warms and happy, and his friends look warm and happy, and Feuilly has incredible music playing. Enjolras lets himself rock back and forth to the beat of it with his eyes closed.

“Loverboy,” Cosette says in his ear. “Look who’s here.”

Enjolras looks up. Grantaire is lounging on the one raggedy couch in the fraternity house’s basement; he’s opening an actual box of cigarettes with a contemplative look on his face. Enjolras stares at him. Cosette pushes him, so he goes. He almost walks straight into three different people on his way.

“Hey.” He drops onto the couch next to Grantaire and enjoys the pleased, surprised look he gets in return.

“Hey,” Grantaire says. “Here, practice.” He throws Enjolras his lighter.

Enjolras almost fumbles it, but he catches it the last moment and holds it carefully. He flicks it on. The flame is steady and small and sweet.

Grantaire has a cigarette dangling from the center of his mouth. Enjolras cups his free hand around the lighter and offers it to the other boy. Grantaire leans forward. His face glows orange in the petite circle of light, and his cheekbones look incredible when he inhales. Enjolras’s fingers are barely brushing his cheek. Then he leans back and grins crookedly.

Enjolras would be worried about having a cigarette inside, but the basement is already thick with the heady scent of smoke, and the air is hazy. He wouldn’t know how to construct his point, anyway.

“Do you want a drink?” Enjolras asks. It feels foolish to sit there with the lighter still in his hands but he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands. Grantaire shakes his head. 

“I’ve already been drinking,” he says regretfully. But he’s still smiling. “Ready for a cigarette?”

Enjolras frowns.

“You don’t have to actually smoke one tonight,” Grantaire adds with an even wider grin. He pauses to breathe in and out, his breath marked by the glowing end of the cigarette and the light gray wash of smoke that spills over his lips. “Don’t do anything unless you’re comfortable doing it.”

Enjolras keeps frowning and watching Grantaire. “I like when you do that,” he finally says. His words manage to be belligerent and sincere, all at once. He sets the lighter on the couch cushion and frowns at it too.

“When I do what?” Grantaire’s eyebrows are raised in amusement and the cigarette is set casually between two of his fingers. Enjolras waves a hand at him.

“That,” he says. “With the– with the smoke. Vapor. Whatever.”

Grantaire’s expression transforms into a grin. “You like watching me smoke?” He asks delightedly. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Enjolras as he takes an exaggerated drag on the cigarette and blows it out in one faint breath. Enjolras watches the curve of his mouth and feels his own breath catch in his throat.

“It’s hot as hell,” he mutters distractedly. Grantaire grins again. His eyes are wicked and lazy as he regards Enjolras.

“Enjolras!” Courfeyrac appears in front of them and hauls on the blonde’s arms until he stands up. “They’re playing our _song!”_ Enjolras is dragged into the other room before he can even look back at Grantaire, and then he loses several minutes to the pounding music and the euphoria on Courfeyrac’s face as they scream along to the familiar lyrics. Enjolras can’t stop laughing, and Courfeyrac beams at him and throws his hands up.

When the next song comes on Enjolras goes back into the other room and finds that Grantaire is missing. Enjolras starts searching for him and finds a different cluster of his friends instead, still dancing to the oppressively noisy music. Combeferre has his hands wrapped around Courfeyrac’s waist, and Enjolras takes a moment to beam helplessly at them before moving on.

“Where’s Grantaire?” He yells in Cosette’s ear. 

She shows him all of her teeth in a vicious smile and shouts, “I think he went outside!”

Enjolras goes outside.

There’s a cluster of people around the back door of the frat house, smoking and laughing under the weak light, and Grantaire is leaning against the wall a few feet away. The shadows cast half of his face into impressive darkness, but Enjolras can already see the glint of the vape in his hand and a rough exhale of smoke issuing from his mouth.

Enjolras sticks his hands in his pockets goes over to join him.

The pleased expression is back on Grantaire’s face; he breathes the white vapor out of his nose in two plumes, like a dragon. Enjolras is still a little drunk. He stares. He likes it.

“You only came out to see me smoke,” Grantaire accuses. He bumps his shoulder against Enjolras’s.

“It’s loud in there,” Enjolras says with a shrug. He can’t really feel his face. Then he glances sideways at Grantaire. “And like I said. I hate smoking, you know? But I like it when you do it.” He lets his eyes linger on Grantaire’s mouth before flicking them up to meet the dark-haired man’s stare.

Grantaire blinks at him slowly. “I’m going to teach you how to shotgun,” he announces abruptly.

Enjolras tips his head to one side. “Like with a beer?”

“Not really.” Grantaire lays a hand on Enjolras’s arm and uses it to pull him closer. “Lean forward– yeah, that’s it.” He takes a quick drag and then focuses on Enjolras again. Their faces are very close. “Breathe in when I tell you to, yeah?” Grantaire says quietly. Enjolras nods. Grantaire turns his head to take an even deeper drag from his vape, then uses his free hand to cup Enjolras’s face and tilt him to a better angle. “Now,” he murmurs, and he blows the smoke directly into Enjolras’s mouth.

Enjolras takes it from him obediently, drunk on their proximity, and feels it go smoothly down his throat and into his chest. Grantaire grins at him and Enjolras feels abruptly like he’s burning, just a bit. “Oh,” he says, and then he starts to cough. Grantaire laughs a little, but runs one hand soothingly down Enjolras’s side.

“The throat kick takes some getting used to,” he says.

When Enjolras looks up again Grantaire is still vaping and still smiling. Enjolras moves forward even farther; his shoulder is pressed up against Grantaire’s. “I want to try again,” he demands.

Grantaire’s smile widens. “Don’t inhale it so quickly,” he advises, and then he puts his hand on the back of Enjolras’s neck and drags him in even closer. He almost kisses Enjolras with the mouthful of smoke, and stays close as Enjolras breathes it back out evenly. His knees and feet are hopelessly tangled with Grantaire’s, and Grantaire’s hand is still on the back of his neck.

“Another?”

Enjolras nods. Grantaire presses their mouths together. He tastes like smoke and alcohol, and he’s still breathing vapor into Enjolras’s mouth, and Enjolras is giddy with how much he _wants._ He curls his fingers around the lapels of Grantaire’s ridiculous fucking jacket and presses closer to kiss the other boy harder.

“Do you know,” he gasps into Grantaire’s mouth, “how fucking _obscene_ you look when you’re smoking?”

“You’re one to talk,” Grantaire responds, and the words are almost a groan. He presses another untidy kiss to Enjolras’s lips. “You should see the look on your face.”

Enjolras fucking whines, high in his throat, and reaches up to wind his arms around Grantaire’s neck. Grantaire has both hands settled low on Enjolras’s hips, and he’s still holding that goddamn vape, and Enjolras doesn’t know if he ever wants to stop kissing him.

Grantaire stops kissing him. “No, hey,” he whispers when Enjolras makes a noise of disapproval and tries to kiss him again. “We’re both a little drunk, okay? Let’s go back inside.”

“Don’t want to,” Enjolras mumbles, and he kisses Grantaire’s jaw. Then he moves back a little. They watch each other in the harsh half-lighting for a long moment.

“I don’t only like you because you smoke,” Enjolras says, as seriously as he can manage. 

Grantaire looks hopelessly charmed. He ruffles Enjolras’s blond hair fondly and then steps away, but he’s smiling, and he holds out a hand for Enjolras to hold. “C’mon. We can go dance, and then we’ll go home, and maybe tomorrow we should hang out.”

Enjolras smiles brightly at him and takes his hand. Then he stops and tries to order his features into a sterner expression again. “You really should quit smoking,” he says.

Grantaire laughs at him.

**Author's Note:**

> Written because of [this post](http://kvothes.tumblr.com/post/137594227439/inktaire-okay-so-hear-me-out-on-this) by [inktaire!](http://inktaire.tumblr.com)
> 
> I can be found on tumblr as [kvothes.](http://kvothes.tumblr.com/tagged/x) I also having a writing inspiration sideblog at [sweetprincet.](http://sweetprincet.tumblr.com/tagged/x)


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